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Book -MAI^E^ 

CopghlN" /f^^- 

(X)I'YKK.HT l)i:i'()SlT. 



The Electric Spirit 

and Other Poems by 

Marion Couthouy Smith 




Boston : Richard G. Badger 

The Gorham Press 

1906 



Copyright 1906 by Marion Couthouy Smith 
All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDieo ReceivM) 

JUL 27 1906 

"Coiy^ib'rit Entry 

las;/ CL '.Xc, No 

COPY B. 







Printed at the Gorham Press 
Boston, U, S. A. 



ASCRIPTION 

To him whose course no tyrant fear controls; 
Ruler, inspirer, friend of noble souls. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Electric Spirit 9 

The Call of the Hour lo 

The Old Age to the Nezv 12 

The Nezv Miracle H 

To-day ^4 

A Hope Far Off I5 

The Gifts of Love 16 

The Eyes of Love 16 

Not in the Hand I Love 17 

The Hermes of Praxiteles 17 

Life With Love 18 

Helpless Love ^^ 

To One Young and Fair 19 

A Choice ^9 

The Awakening ^° 

On the River at Night 21 

The Kitten ^^ 

The Hunting-Call of Spring 23 

Night Song ^4 

In a Hospital Ward 25 

At the Concert: A Wagner Number 26 

Love's Refuge ^" 

Love is Dead ^7 

The Soul's Endurance ^7 

The Lion Caged ^^ 

The Closing Year 3^ 



The Vindication 30 

A Neiv Friendship 31 

To a Young Child 32 

Nocturne 33 

A Guardian Spirit 34 

The Night Flower 34 

Without Intent 35 

New York 35 

The City 37 

The Planting of a Tree 39 

The Joy of the Hour 40 

Press Song 41 

The Soul's Flight 42 

A Child Musician 44 

The Greater Way 45 

A Room 46 

Fantasia 47 

A May Maiden 48 

The Pine Tree 49 

In Quietness and in Confidence 51 

On the River: An Impression 52 

A Chorister 53 

A Disciple 54 

A Child I Knew 54 

On the Plains 55 

"To Whom Shall We Go?" 55 

A Song of Kindred 56 



Lazarus 57 

Out at Sea 58 

The Children 59 

October 59 

The Song of Margaret 61 

Let Me Cry Hope 62 

Portrait of a Child 63 

Child-Life Passes Azvay 64 

Before the Dawn 65 

Chicago — in i8ps 67 

In Dear Bohemia 69 

Chicago at Rest — i8p4 71 

In a Corn-Field y2 

Death's Way 73 

Songs of War 

The Song of the Gunner yy 

The War Cloud, 1898 78 

A Mother of 'p8 79 

Ballad of the Rough Riders 80 

The Men We Are 83 

The Soldier Ideal 84 

The Reserve 86 

Earlier Poems 

The Watcher 91 

Loss and Gain 92 

Changes 93 

The After- Word 

If Words Could Reach Thee 94 



THE ELECTRIC SPIRIT 

With wild wings fettered I ride the wires, 
My Hfe finds issue in Winding fires, 
Bright shapes are wrought by my flying breath, 
But my touch is flame, and my kiss is death. 

Since man hath bound me with coil and chain, 
Nor sea nor space can his word restrain : 
I wind my circles of burning speed 
The round globe over to serve his need. 

Of warring winds I am king and lord ; 
The storms come wielding my radiant sword. 
I laugh in light as the swift strokes fly; 
The sullen thunders make slow reply. 

With mystic passion I yearn from far 
To my secret home 'neath the northern star. 
And thence, on the vast black walls of night, 
I fling great rays from my gates of light. 

Time flees before me, and none may know 
My course as from star to star I go. 
For I am life. In the utmost dark 
God's touch enkindled my fervid spark. 

Think ye to know me, O ye who raise 
My torch of flame on the world's highways? 
Ask him whose throne is the central light 
Of countless suns in their wheeling flight. 

With fierce strength fettered, I ride the wires. 
Prometheus-spirits have tamed my fires, 
But God alone, in His chosen hour. 
Can free the force of my nameless power. 



THE CALL OF THE HOUR 
To the Poets 

Turn, turn to the East, ye singers, 

Lest the day come unaware ! 
Hark, how the steps of the ringers 

Sound on the belfry stair. 
Soon shall the bells of morning chime — 
The loud heart-throbs of hurrying Time — 
And every pulse shall beat in rhyme 

To the song of hope they bear. 

No moment is left for weeping 

O'er the joys of vanished night; 
The soft-footed hours of sleeping, 

The feasting and mad delight. 
Ye may not loiter by lingering streams, 
To watch the maze of the moving gleams, 
The shadow-dance of the world of dreams. 

Under the stars' cold light. 

While, lost in your memories tender, 

Sighing and dazed, ye stand, 
There broadens a line of splendor 

On the black edge of the land; 
The fair trees stir from root to crest. 
The wild bird flutters within the nest, 
With the thrill of dawn on his ruffled breast; 

The day ! The day 's at hand ! 

When the bird up-starts to shame you, 
And sings with his small heart's might. 

Shall the past and the darkness claim you, 
Ye prophets of God's own light? 

10 



Though others sleep, it is yours to praise 
The far-seen glory of coming days, 
Their mighty march from the unknown ways 
Through the star-paths of the night. 

The voice of 3^our dream is soundless. 

In the strong world's waking ear, 
Though the grief of your soul were boundless, 

The love of your life were dear. 
No heart will heed them, no voice reply ; 
For the soul of the race lifts up a cry 
That mounts at last to the brightening sky, 

In loud demand and clear. 

For the rolling wheels make thunder; 

The coils of the lightning sweep 
The round world over and under. 

And the wide, wild seas o'er-leap ; 
And where the ranks of the toilers stand. 
They wait for the touch of hand to hand. 
And the song that their hearts can understand, 

Calling from deep to deep. 

Then turn to the East, ye singers, 
And chant the world's new rhyme! 

Bend, bend, ye sturdy ringers. 
Sounding the morning chime. 

Till faith shall conquer, and hope make bright 

The secret places of wrong and blight ; 

Come, lead the chorus of love and light, 
Ye prophets of God's own time ! 



11 



THE OLD AGE TO THE NEW 

The New Age comes from the void, wonder and 
joy in her eyes ; 
The touch of her captive Hghtnings has fringed 
her robe with flame ; 
The song on her hps is strange ; it is not plain to 
the wise. 
But the strong of soul shall heed, and swell it 
with deep acclaim. 

The Old Age stands by the verge, weary she is, 
yet glad; 
Her brows are weighted with laurels ; her 
hands are heavy with gold. 
*'Now hail to you who shall share all hope and 
gain I have had. 
Who comes with a strength untried, with a 
glory yet untold! 

"Hail to you, who shall reign while I go down 
to my rest! 
Lo I have lived, I have conquered, I have 
wrested gifts from Fate! 
Queen I have been of the Ages, strongest and 
richest and best ; 
Thou art warden of all — see that thou keep 
thy state. 

"Vision is given me now to see what thou may'st 
attain. 
To know the glory and grace that lie within 
thy power; 
But if thou fail or win, if thy portion be loss or 
gain, 
That is hidden from me, to be told in thy trial 
hour. 

12 



"All is thine for the striving, — love, and the 
reign of peace ; 
Great, triumphant toil, and crowns for the 
toiler's brow ; 
Sin and greed to be vanquished, wrath and pain 
that shall cease ; 
Joy of a quest fulfilled, of a vast heroic vow. 

"Yet amid all thy gain, one brave thing shalt 
thou lose, 
When the last of the fighting men shall draw 
his dying breath ; 
When to Manhood comes no more the hour in 
which to choose 
Whether to live at ease, or serve a cause to 
the death. 

"So the test shall be thine, to see that the peace 
be true. 
To watch that the reign of law be pure as 
the reign of might ; 
To guard lest the idol of gold that's set on high 
in thy view 
Be the god that thy children worship, the 
shadow to dim thy light." 

The New Age comes from the void, wonder and 
joy in her eyes ; 
The Old Age stands by the verge, in her pas- 
sion of prophecy. 
"And oh ! that I might see the end of thy strife !" 
she cries ; 
"And oh ! that I might know if my soul's desire 
shall be!" 



13 



THE NEW MIRACLE 

I have sent my word to the goal, 
Through the spaces vast and bare, 
Through leagues of the pathless air, 

Straight to your listening soul. 

The void is my willing thrall, 

Knowing no bound nor bar; 

I stand in my place afar, 
And fling you the voiceless call. 

Whence is its vivid speed? 

What is the path it knows? 

Silent and swift it goes, 
Where the waiting wire gives heed. 

From the living touch it flees ; 

And the ships no longer lie 

Lost between wave and sky — 
They whisper from soundless seas. 

And the word I send along, 

Through the spaces bright and bare. 
Through leagues of the desert air. 

Turns to a spheric song. 

TO-DAY 

Queen of the flying moments, — stern 'lo-day ! 
Our lives are vibrant to thy sceptre's sway; 
Unshaped To-morrows wait upon thy breath, 
Thy hand lets fall the seed of life or death ; 
And ev'n the irrevocable Yesterdays 
Shine with new light beneath thy searching rays. 
— Teach me obedience to thy swift control, 
And smite thy meaning through my brain and 
soul. 

14 



A HOPE FAR OFF 

Shall not my soul stand facing thine 

In the great days to be, 
Drinking its faith and force like wine, 

Voicing its rhapsody? 
I who have sung, thou who has wrought, 

Shall we not feel at length 
Through the vast changes death has brought, 

Our spirits' dual strength? 

Shall not the friendship we have known 

In these hot fields of strife 
Be yet more perfectly our own 

On the clear heights of life? 
[, who have felt thy larger grasp, 

Thou, who hast read my heart, — 
Our hands have met in that long clasp 

Time had no skill to part. 

Should I not lose, in losing thee, 

A light on all my years, 
The dearest dreams of memory, 

The source of smiles and tears? 
Then must I keep this thought of grace. 

That in the lands unknown, 
Standing, full-statured, face to face. 

Our souls shall claim their own. 



15 



THE GIFTS OF LOVE 

My love would have me brave and bright 
In silks and gems and golden rings ; 

And I must laugh with gay delight, 
When some rich gift he brings. 

But ah ! The little gifts can move 

My heart with stronger, tenderer power 

And I must weep for very love 
When he but brings a flower. 



THE EYES OF LOVE 

Blind souls, who say that Love is blind! 

He only sees aright; 
His only are the eyes that find 

The spirit's inner light. 

He lifts, while others grope and pry. 

His gaze serene and far; 
And they but see a waste of sky 

Where Love can see the star. 



16 



NOT IN THE HAND I LOVE 

When for my sin Thou chastenest me, O Lord, 
And man must be Thine instrument of woe, 
In the stern hand of some unvanquished foe 

Place Thou the power to smite me, and the 
sword ! 

Not in the hand I love, oft held in mine, 

For joy or comfort, through the changing day; 
Or if that hand must wound me, let it slay ! 

That from its lost clasp I may pass to Thine. 



THE HERMES OE PRAXITELES 

This Hermes bears an aspect too divine 

For Zeus' light-heeled and trick-brained mes- 
senger ; 
We cannot fancy those deep curls astir 
In breezy flight, nor those calm eyes ashine 
With scintillant mirth and madness. How be- 
nign 
Those straight still brows ! So fair a messen- 
ger 
Was princely Gabriel, as he bent to her 
Who asked him, awe-struck, **Can such grace be 
mine?" 

From those sweet lips what golden message came. 

Forever stilled! The Heavens are silent now. 

Or only speak in wind and whispering bough. 

Now dwells the Word within no rhythmic 
span 

Of song or rune, but in the heart of man, 
Divinely breathed, it kindles like a flame! 



17 



LIFE WITH LOVE 

From (lark to dark we fly, , 

From outer to inner portal ; 
But Love will join us, winging by, 

And he too is immortal. 

From birth to death we go, 

Through the dark doors — ah, whither? 
But Love 's before us, and we know 

He, too, is flying thither. 

Then forward without fear! 

For Love leaves light behind him ; 
And where he goes is best of cheer. 

For Death can never find him ! 

HELPLESS LOVE 

If I could work for thee, if I could spend 
The long, long days in labor for thy sake, 
And of some task — to me most blessed ! — 
make 

A link with thee, toward whom my wishes tend ; 

If with my very life I could defend 

Thy tender life from pain, — I should not 

grieve ! 
Vainly I long of my sad hours to weave 

A web in whose fair texture I might blend 
Gold threads of good for thee. But time goes 

And I sit helpless, — bearing all the strain 
Of love's great strength, held down as with a 
chain, 
And nought to do for thee, not even to die! 
Only my heart seeks Heaven with this one plea, 
That of my pain God shape some good for thee ! 

18 



TO ONE YOUNG AND FAIR 

As yon dark pine tree, sad with memory, 

Looks down upon the violet-blooms that start 
Low at its feet, and hymns with loving art 

Their gentle grace, in old-world minstrelsy; 

So I look down, most dear, and sing of thee, 
And feel thy beauty nestling at my heart. 



A CHOICE 

Those who have fallen let others seek, 
With soothing voice and lifting hand. 

If God but give me leave to speak 

One word of cheer to those who stand. 

Let others with their love enfold 

The feebler souls that cling to wrong; 

I would but touch with steadying hold 
The bitter burdens of the strong. 

Great patient souls, that make no plaint, 
Till death reveals the weight they bore ! 

They close the ranks of those who faint, 
And take their toils forevermore. 



19 



THE AWAKENING 

Darkness — silence — scarce a breath : 

Love is lying marble-still. 
Is it sleep, or is it death? 

Can the full heart pause at will ? 
She who loves sits desolate, 

Whelmed in midnight cold and deep 
While her very pulses wait, 

Asking, Is it death or sleep? 

(Still thee, Soul! Whate'er it be. 

Quell the passion in thy breast. 
Questioned, Love must rise and flee : 

Keep thy vigil; let him rest. 
Stir not, while he slumbers on. 

Till he sigh and softly rise: 
Then shalt thou, who deemed him gone. 

Feel his kiss upon thine eyes!) 

Darkness ! But her gasping breath 

Cuts the silence like a cry ; 
She will know if this be death. 

Though her trembling gladness fly! 
On her lamp's rim breaks a spark, 

Waxes to a slender flame ; 
And her white face, 'gainst the dark. 

Shows, a mask of fear and shame. 

Slowly moves the fiery blot 

Over flower-traced wall and floor. 
(Wake him not, — ah, wake him not! 

Love awakened dreams no more!) 
Slips the light, at her command, 

O'er the fair extended form, 
O'er the listless, curving hand, 

O'er the pure lips, breathing warm. 

20 



Is it sleep, or is it death? 

Ah, she knows ! The white Hds rise, 
Now unveiHng, in a breath. 

All the glory of his eyes ! 
Love upsprings beneath her gaze, 

Fleeting, flashing through the night, 
Leaving all the air ablaze 

With the radiance of his flight ! 

l'envoi 

Keep thy vigil, doubting Soul ; 

Still thee, till Love's sleep be o'er; 
Wait thy doom of joy or dole : 

Love, so roused, is thine no more ! 



ON THE RIVER AT NIGHT 

The city writes, in hieroglyphs of fire. 

The story of her life. 
Her stress of toil, her passion of desire. 

Her ecstasy of strife. 

Each night, on either margin of the stream, 

Her page of flame unrolls ; 
And all along the wave, with varied gleam, 

She draws her jewelled scrolls. 

Her soul's appeal is flashed upon the night. 

While, writ in mightier lines. 
With clustered stars, in characters of light, 

Some calm, great answer shines. 



21 



THE KITTEN 

Small, sinuous thing, sleek shape of grace, 

Within thy drowsy babyhood 
There dwells that smouldering spark of race 

Which flames forth in the jungle brood; 
In thy curled softness lies asleep 
The splendor of the tiger's leap. 

Thine eyes a jewel-gleam disclose. 
Where lurks that soul of fierce desire 

That through the tropic midnight glows 
In two bright spheres of baleful fire. 

So Nature, in some wayward hour. 

Draws in small lines her types of power. 

Thy velvet footfalls, as they glide, 

Recall the beauty and the dread 
Of that long, crouching, sinewy stride. 

That furtive, fierce, forth-reaching head ; 
We feel that deadly presence pass, — 
The dry, slow rustle in the grass. 

Since in thy lithe, swift gentleness 

Such hints of power and blight are shown, 
What kinship must the soul confess 

With forces mightier than her own? 
What beast, what angel, shall have sway. 
When we have reached our utmost day ? 



22 



THE HUNTING-CALL OF SPRING 

Clear wind the horns of Spring again, 

(Hark, forward — hark!) 
O'er mellowing hills they ring again. 

Farewell to cold and dark! 
L^p, up ! and brush the dews away ; 
The sun comes laughing through the gray, 
To gild the flying robes of May ; 

Hark, forward — hark ! 

The hordes of hope are out again ; 

(Hark, forward — hark!) 
Room for the merry rout again, 

Whose revels chase the dark! 
Their couriers are the dancing showers. 
And through the song-awakened hours 
The bright ranks follow — flowers on flowers; 

Hark, forward — hark! 

Beside the hurrying stream again, 

(Hark, forward — hark!) 
We'll find our last year's dream again, 

W^iere pipes the meadow-lark. 
Come, love of mine, earth's fairest thing. 
With eyes that shine and lips that sing. 
Haste to the ringing call of Spring ! 

Hark, forward — hark ! 



23 



NIGHT SONG 

Come, my soul, and to thy fastness 

Flee away ; 
Close the shadowy doors of silence 

On the day. 

Come, and let all hope and passion 

Fall to rest; 
Let the sphinx of midnight fold thee 

To her breast: 

She whose ears no moan nor murmur 

Ever reach, 
And whose lips are closed to question 

And to speech ; 

She whose eyes are as the brooding 

Lights of fate. 
And whose silence to thy sorrow 

Answers — Wait ! 

Thou shalt learn in that pure stillness 

What thou art — 
All the wonder and the wisdom 

Of thy heart. 

Not in dreams, for they are shadows ; 

Not in sleep — 
That is soulless : but in vision 

Clear and deep ; 

In the rest nor pain nor longing 

Put to flight; 
In the sweet and cold Nirvana 

Of the night. 

24. 



Learn the power, the calm, the worship 

That shall be. 
Come, my soul ! For in the darkness 

Thou art free. 



IN A HOSPITAL WARD 

This is the hallway tO' the courts of Death, 

Where mournful crowds besiege his inner gate ; 

Here, prone in piteous rows, they rest and wait, 
And measure weary hours with long-drawn 

breath. 
Ah, house where none for pleasure entereth! 

Far from the clamorous cries of love or hate, 

Here Pain and Patience dwell in lonely state, 
And here the dumb soul learns its shibboleth, 
Password to unknown regions. Come, my heart. 

Steal in, and watch the battle fought and won ; 
Look into wistful eyes, where no tears start ; 

And in these silent victories, praised by none, 
Mark how the dauntless spirit plays its part. 

Though the spent frame be vanquished and un- 
done ! 



25 



AT THE CONCERT: A WAGNER 
NUMBER 

A crash of the drum and cymbals, 

A long, keen, wailing- cry ; 
A throb as of wings of mighty things, 

That with whirring din sweep by. 

They come, with their thunder-chorus. 

Vast shapes, of a stronger race; 
An alien throng from some star of song 

In the undiscovered space. 

I thrill to their eager calling, 

I shrink from their fierce control ; 
They have pressed and pried the great doors wide 

That were closed to guard my soul. 

LOVE'S REFUGE 

Love fled from Death on a summer's day. 
Lightly trod over fern and flower; 

"Ah, Death," he cried, ''when the world is gay, 
Seek me not, but await thine hour ! 

I am welcome wherever I go ; 

Gladness follows my steps," said he ; 

"For love hath not in the world a foe. 
But thee — but thee !" 

Love came to Death on a winter's night. 

Knocked and cried at the cold, closed door; 

"Shelter me. Death, from storm and blight! 
Wilt thou forget me f orevermore ? 

Life pursues to a cruel end; 
Refuge only is here," said he; 

"For Love hath not in the world a friend 
But thee — but thee !" 

26 



LOVE IS DEAD 

Love is dead, they say; 

Where is he laid away? 

I would see him, stark and fair, 
Cut a lock of his shining hair, 

Kiss his lips, however cold, — 
Poor Love, sweet Love, 

Who lived not to grow old. 

Love ? We laid him here, 
On a flower-strewn bier. 

Yet he's gone, we know not where. 

Lift the pall, — was he ever there ? 
When his soul is fled away, 
His form will never stay. 



THE SOUL'S ENDURANCE 

The marvel is, that we can bear our part 

With such strange courage, and endure so 

much ; 
When Sorrow brands us with her fiery touch, 

That we can face her with so high a heart. 

That, though with failing, staggering feet we 
trace 
The blank, unmeasured pathways of the night, 
We still move forward, without strength or 
sight. 
Straight to some fair unknown abiding-place. 

Oh, dauntless soul of man ! How vast a hope — 
Renewed forever — is thy rightful dower ; 
How fair a presage of delight and power, 

When thy life broadens to its destined scope ! 

27 



THE LION CAGED 

For hours, with furtive, forceful tread, 

He paces slow, in sad disdain ; 
His limbs by formless lonii^ings led 

That thrill their giant thews like pain. 

Or, flinging full his shaggy length, 

Fronting the bars, inert he lies ; 
The frenzies of his captive strength 

Flame up, and darken, in his eyes. 

What moves within his soul, who dwxlt 

Between the naked earth and sky, 
Who with his strenuous pulses felt 

The swinging sphere in harmony? 

What anguish of his helpless state 
Stills his vast bulk to sullen rest? 

Till some blind impulse — fierce, elate — 

Strikes like a sting through brain and breast! 

Some arrowy gleam of tropic suns. 

That quickened once his splendid might, 

Through all his troubled being runs. 
And floods his yellow eyes with light. 

The cold, sweet breath of forest streams, 
Wind-blown between the vengeful bars ; 

The lusts of spring ; the savage dreams ; 
The ranging hunt beneath the stars. 

Strange living memories, dumbly voiced. 
They rend him as he lies forlorn, — 

The strong brute spirit, that rejoiced 
In unveiled glories of the morn ! 

28 



So with his leap the prison shakes ; 

And as his mighty head he rears, 
From his wild bosom hoarsely breaks 

The passion of his wasted years. 

Then, slowly, as the vision dies. 

The narrow walls, with conquering stress, 
Constrain him — and once more he lies, 

Dull, helpless, stricken, passionless! 

Yet who may flout him ? Still he shows 
A shape of power, as he were free ; 

And fear still guards him as he goes. 
And crowns his ruined majesty. 



29 



THE CLOSING YEAR 

Now falters to its end a wondrous year, 

Crowned with strange lights of glory and of 

woe. 
Splendors of memory, and prophetic glow, 
And all that makes life terrible and dear. 
The flight of mighty spirits from our sphere 
Has quickened all the air. With what stern 

bliss 
They to whom death could never come amiss 
Went forth, and left their rich remembrance 

here ! 
Theirs is the history now of star and sun ; 

Creation's music with their song makes rhyme : 
While we, who feel great movements scarce be- 
gun, 
Hear the deep hours struck out with fateful 
chime ; 
Nor rest until the breathless age has won 

The hard-wrought guerdons of tumultuous 
time. 



THE VINDICATION . 

Ye wrong the toiling Age, all ye who say 

That Faith's clear cry is heard no more on 
earth ; 

That we are left to drug the soul with mirth, 
And in life's low fulfilments, day by day. 
Close out our weary round. They tell you nay, 

Those high sweet souls that weigh not their 
own worth, 

But trust the impulse of diviner birth, 
And move straight starward by some secret way. 

30 



Still may we find them, saints that toil and sing, 
Strons: hearts, that bear love's burdens through 



the gloom 



And they to whom earth's tenderest laurels cling, 
The Nations' martyrs, glorious in their doom, 

Who welcomed conquering Death as king greets 
king, 
And made a royal palace of the tomb. 



A NEW FRIENDSHIP 

Thy life drew near to mine, all unaware, 
Strange as the coming of a star at eve ; 
Ere the sky darkens, while we yet believe 
There is no star in sight, — lo ! it is there, 
A breathing, trembling light in the still air, 
A joy new-made. 



So when I met with thee, 
Dear friend, true heart, 'twas twilight time 
with me; 
Much had grown dim that I had once found 

fair, 
I do not know with what sweet ray of grace 
Thy life first touched me, shining through my 
tears, 
When thy soft hand came stealing to its place 

Within my own, and drew me back from fears. 
This only do I know, — that in thy face 
I found a new light for my coming years. 



31 



TO A YOUNG CHILD 

Not for that all obey thee 

Art thou a khig, dear heart; 
But that no fears waylay thee 
Nor earthly laws gainsay thee, — 
Lord of thy soul thou art. 

World's scorn can never fright thee, 

World's sorrow make thee pine ; 
Nor dark forebodings blight thee. 
Nor mocking hopes invite thee ; 
Life's perfect Now is thine. 

In faith serenely nested, 

Thou smil'st when others weep ; 
While we, by cares molested. 
With heavy hearts unrested, 

Are envious of thy sleep ; 

Till, when the dark is creeping 
O'er life's last troubled day. 
We fall, hke thee, to sleeping, 
And learn, in love's great keeping, 
Faith's royal, restful way. 



32 



NOCTURNE 

How cool, how spacious, how serene the night! 
How the great transports and wide destinies 
Of that unbounded Hfe to which we tend 
Now show themselves in glimpses ! Piercing 

bright 
Those quick looks of the stars between the 

boughs, — 
Flashes of prophecy. The somber trees 
Are massed in denser dark against the void, — 
Vast spheres of shadow, where all mysteries 

blend. 
With subtle movement and with deep-drawn 

sighing. 

My soul, thou sleeping Titan, prostrate lying, 
Lulled by the day, — now stir as if to rise ; 
Push back the hair from slumber-weighted 

brows. 
And gaze awhile, with bright bewildered eyes, 
Upon thy kindred stars. O blinding gleam ! 

quickening breath of Night that clears my 
dream ! 

Love, in a prison-house thou boldest me 
Of narrow longings and enthralling woe. 
For once Fll say : Unbar, and let me go. 
To breathe a larger air ! This hour sets free 
The slave of light and time — but yet to-morrow 

1 would steal back to the old love and sorrow ! 



33 



A GUARDIAN SPIRIT 

The years affright me, love, for in their deeps 
May lurk an ambushed woe — the loss of you ! 
Grief cannot wound me, while your guard is 
true; 
And while your soul keeps watch, dark memory 

sleeps. 
But, like a ghost, along my pathway creeps 
That dream of evil which you hold at bay. 
What shall befall me, should you slip away 
From my life's clasp? — The sudden terror leaps 
Upon my heart, as some wild thing alight, 
Whose clutch is death ! — Then were my soul 
laid bare 
To all the sullen hosts of storm and blight. 

But while I shrink from that unnamed despair, 
Your tender presence steals upon my sight. 
With blue eyes shining through the shadowed 
air. 



THE NIGHT FLOWER 

The sun hath many worshippers : all day 

What fair great flowers send incense to his 

shrine, 
Forever turning toward his face divine, 
And drooping straight when he withdraws his 

ray! 
What delicate morning blooms unfold and sway 
Upon their tender stems for his delight, 
But shrinking from the first cold touch of 
night, 
Upon their soft breasts fold their dreams away! 
So many lovers hath the royal sun : 
But night, the sad, fair sibyl, hath but one. 

34 



One pure and wondrous flower is fain to know 
The lore of her stern Hps and brooding eyes, 

And, stung by that strange passion, opens slow. 
Shines in white fire of ecstasy, and dies. 

WITHOUT INTENT. 

This is a truth, though it be strange to hear : 

One may shed light upon another's way 

All unaware. Some life-inspiring ray 
May shine from one who never held us dear ; 
And some slight hand deliver us from fear, 

Not knowingly stretched toward us. What 
we see, 

Or feel, or dream another's Hfe to be — 
When by our love we bring its influence near — 
Marks on the soul its secret, deep impress. 

Hope comes, unrecognized, and scarce desired. 
From some mere touch of truth or tenderness. 

So, without knowledge, heart by heart is fired ; 
And yonder laughing child does more to bless 

Than priest or prophet consciously inspired. 

NEW YORK 

The air and the wave enfold her, 

River and sky and sea; 
Cradled in light they hold her. 

Circled in mystery. 
With a tender touch they drape her. 

At morning and eventide, 
In a film of jewelled vapor 

Fit for a royal bride. 

The stars of the night have crowned her, 
In pageant full o'erhead ; 

85 



And far, to the verg-e around her, 

Her zone of light is spread. 
The subject seas have brought her 

All that their tides control ; 
And the joy of the breathing- water 

Quickens her inmost soul. 

Where is her peer in splendor? 

Whom shall she own as lord? 
Richest that earth can render 

Down at her feet is poured. 
Yet can no glories win her 

To deep and pure repose, 
For the strong, proud heart within her 

Aches with a thousand woes. 

She who was made to cherish 

Toiler and waif and slave. 
Weeps that her children perish, 

Spoiled of the hope she gave. 
Mourns for her freedom's dower. 

Lost in the strife for gold, 
While the sword of her sovereign power 

Drops from her listless hold. 

Yet, as the tides sweep round her, 

Her mighty pulses thrill. 
And the chains that long have bound her 

Shake with her wakening will. 
Slowly the links are broken ; 

Shall not she bear at last 
Only the solemn token 

Of pain and thraldom past ? 

The air and the wave enfold her. 
River and sky and sea; 

36 



Lo ! in a dream behold her, 
Crowned as she yet may be! 

Still is she freedom's daughter, 
Noble in joy or dole; 

And the life of the great glad water 
Oiiickens her inmost soul. 



THE CITY 

Beside the shining water, serene she sits in state, 
Fronting the noonday splendor, keeping the New 

World's gate ; 
Mother of hope and promise, city of light and 

dream. 
Smiling in beauty's triumph, changed with each 

changing gleam; 
Beside the shining water, she draws her veil of 

mist 
Over her flashing jewels, opal and amethyst. 

In twilight's purple vapor, in morning's rain of 

gold, 
Forever round her island walls the glittering 

tides are rolled; 
And the great sea's utmost secret, the river's 

tenderer song, 
Sound through her mingled voices the changeful 

year along. 
Like doves to her bosom flocking, the proud, 

swift ships come home, 
Tracking her glassy waters with arabesques of 

foam ; 
And to her heart's strong throbbing a thousand 

hearts keep time, 
Where far across the bay's clear stretch is borne 

her silver chime. 

37 



Indrawn, the sullen shadows from lapping waters 

creep, 
Cold, through the teeming- channels where her 

life's stream runs deep ; 
Indrawn, her breath comes faintly, in broken sob 

and moan. 
Slow, through her up-toss'd thunders — a secret 

monotone 
Sounding from dark recesses, the voice of want 

and wrong, 
Till her mad, sweet, varied music seems but a 

siren song; 
And all her noonday glories, her midnight crown 

of flame. 
Seem but the false regalia of anguish and of 

shame ; 
While o'er that aching tumult she draws her veil 

of mist, 
With the mocking gleam of jewels, opal and 

amethyst. 

Still by the shining water, serene she sits in state, 
Fronting the noonday splendor, keeping the New 

World's gate; 
And still her sun-wrought signals flash from her 

lifted spires, 
And still beneath the lights of heaven she burns 

her midnight fires. 
And the proud, swift ships flock homeward, and 

hope-drawn hearts beat time. 
As far across the bay's clear stretch is borne her 

silver chime. 



38 



THE PLANTING OF A TREE 

Arbor Day Song 

Would 'st thou upbuild a home where sweet wild 
lives are nested, 
Glad with the sound of song, quick with the 
flash of wings, — 
Where the soft broods may rock, warm-housed 
and unmolested, 
Deep in the leafy nooks, through all the 
changeful Springs? 

Or would'st thou rear an arch of noblest grace 
and splendor, 
Lifted in air and light, shaped by the sun and 
storm, 
Moved by the wandering wind, swayed by each 
influence tender. 
Yet by the hand of life moulded to steadfast 
form ? 

Would'st thou make day more fair, and night 
more rich and holy, 
Winter more keenly bright, and summer's self 
more dear, — 
Grant the sweet earth a gift, deep rooted, ripen- 
ing slowly, 
Add to the sum of joys that bless the rounded 
year? 

Go, then, and plant a tree, lovely in sun and 
shadow. 
Gracious in every kind — maple and oak and 
pine. 



Peace of the forest glade, wealth of the fruitful 
meadow, 
Blessings of dew and shade, hereafter shall be 
thine ! 

For though thou never see the joy thy hand hath 
granted, 
Those who shall follow thee thy generous boon 
may share. 
Thou shalt be Nature's child, who her best fruit 
hath planted, 
And each of many a spring shall find thy gift 
more fair. 



THE JOY OF THE HOUR 

I crossed on the windy river, 

And my heart was cold with care ; 
My life seemed mocked by the laughing day, 

Tost on the wide wild air. 

But the sun was hot on the river. 

The small waves raced and flew ; 
And the gulls beat in from the open sea. 

And sailed abroad in the blue. 

And I gave myself to the hour, 

To its sensuous brave delight. 
To the promise voiced by the swinging wave, 

The wind, and the gray gulls' flight. 

And I was not mocked by the river, 

Nor scorned by the light and air ; 
They gave me their life, their dream, their hope. 

Because I had found them fair. 



40 



PRESS SONG 

They whir and clash, through the nights and 
days, 

The magical looms of thought; 
And in and out, through a thousand ways, 

The flashing threads are brought. 
Their swift purveyors part and meet, 
On rail and ship, on mart and street. 
With tireless brain, with hurrying feet, 

As the endless web is wrought. 

They may not pause when the sun is high, 

Nor rest when the light is low ; 
For while men live, and act, and die. 

The word flies to and fro. 
It leaps the sea, it spans the plain ; 
On throbbing wire and mighty chain, 
It runs like fire from main to main. 

That the world may see and know. 

While all men sleep, they whir and clash, 

The terrible looms of light; 
On eyes that wake shall the message flash. 

From far beyond the night ; 
And songs in the under world begun 
Shall touch our lips ere day is done; 
For space is nought, and the earth's at one. 

Linked by the word's swift flight. 

Man calls to man, and not in vain. 

The cry to^ his ear is brought ; 
All love, and labor, and hope, and pain 

Into each soul is wrought. 
Work on, ye presses, at life's behest. 
For light far spread, and for wrong redressed: 
Till time is ended, ye may not rest, 

Ye marvelous looms of thought! 
41 



THE SOUL'S FLIGHT 

Steaming over wild seas, rattling over rails, 
We have brought, to conquer space, power that 

never fails ; 
We have trapped the lightning, harnessed it to 

go 
Down the world and up again, hurtling to and 

fro. 

This has been our messenger; this shall be our 

steed ; 
We have set the rein and curb on its fiery speed ; 
Up the world and down again, roving at our will, 
Yet however swift we go, we are 'prisoned still ! 

Moving mid the splendor of all earthly things, 
We are sick for heights of air, we are mad for 

wings ! 
Shall the lightning bear us yet to the very door 
Where the storm and sullen cloud hold its force 

in store ? 

Land and sea are small to us; wider risk we'd 

brave ; 
Up the winds and down again — that is what we 

crave ! 
Yet the earth would claim again all our vaunted 

powers ; 
What were lightning wings to us, since they are 

not ours? 

Though we've stolen magic fires, though we've 

set their course. 
Yet there's something stirring us — a wilder, 

deeper force; 

42 



All the powers that we have known, wind and 

wire and steam. 
Fail to move the folded wings that flutter in our 

dream. 

Till the hour when they are spread, we shall sigh 

and lack; 
Though we conquer space and time, earth will 

draw us back; 
Though we run, and though we fly, though at 

last we fare 
Round the world and over it, through the circling 

air. 

We have come from spaces vast, where the day 

is born J 
Where the mighty spheres are forged in the fires 

of morn ; 
Thither shall we flee away, as a darting flame, 
Back to God, and home again — home to whence 

we came. 



43 



A CHILD MUSICIAN 

What is the secret of thy song, 

Oh tender Ariel ? 
What visions to thine eyes belong? 

What tuneful spirits dwell 
In the pure twilight of thy soul, 
Owning thy slender hand's control ? 

What know'st thou that we cannot know 

Who only hear thy dreams? 
When quickening winds of Springtide blow 

Across the ruffled streams, 
What door in Heaven is opened, whence 
Far voices greet thy finer sense ? 

What angel taught thee, when life's ray 

Shone faint upon thine eyes, 
Strange meanings of the night and day, 

Of shadow and sunrise, 
And all the stress man's spirit feels, 
In longing for what God reveals? 

Oh wonder ! that thy childish years, 

Sweet deep-eyed Ariel, 
Are burdened with the dreams, the tears, 

The joy no word may tell. 
The pain, the passion and the strife. 
That mingle in our song of life. 

Our music bears our manhood's woe ; 

How didst thou learn the strain? 
Or dost thou only dimly know 

What thy strange skill makes plain. 
And blindly trace the edge of night 
With small soft fingers tipped with light? 

44 



No thought thy secret may surprise, 

Nor read thy Hfe aright; 
We meet thy pure un fathomed eyes, 

Thy smiles of deep dehght, 
And see upon thy flower-hke face 
God's seal of mystery and of grace. 

As tones of Ocean's song are heard 

Within the fragile shell, 
Thy spirit vibrates to God's word, 

Oh tender Ariel ! 
His whisper in thy soul hath wrought 
A faint, fine echo of His thought. 



THE GREATER WAY 

Hast thou been strong? Thou shalt be left 

Of strength bereft! 
Hast thou been young, and glad and gay? 

Youth flits away ! 
Hast thou been brave, and just, and kind? 

Then to thy mind 
Shall the great forces bend their power, 
Making all life thy dower. 



45 



A ROOM 

This is the room : the void bleak space 
Where set the star of her sweet face, 
Within it, hfe's persistent cry 
Drops to the echo of a sig-h ; 
Its few poor treasures shrink and pine 
Like wreaths on some forsaken shrine ; 
And on its melanchoty walls 
Coldly the morning radiance falls. 
Death's shadow drove its soul of light 
Far upward, beyond dream of sight, 
And left it here, in lonely state, — 
Bare, silent, dim, disconsolate. 



46 



FANTASIA 

I 

Allegro 

Your face is like music ! 

I fanc}^ a song, 
On a clear twilight river, 
Between the dark shores, — 
Like tones in a dream — 
Dropped softly along, 
■ Where the pure lilies quiver 
To the touch of the oars; 
And tenderly, stilly, 

I see your eyes gleam, — 
Stars over and under, 

In sky and in stream. 
And this is the wonder — 
Now your face is the lily, 
And now 'tis the song! 

II 

Andante 

Your face is like music. Its loveliness calls 

To my heart like the echo of melodies rare. 
Like the sweep of a cadence the pure outline 

falls ; 
And the eyes and the lips, both so tenderly 

fair. 
And the cheek, with its soft mystic pallor and 

glow, 
Like the first fairy flushing of dawn upon 

snow, — 

47 



All touch me like clear thronging chords, 
But none puts the dear song in words ; 
For the grace 
That it brings 
Is the grace of a silence 
That sings! 
For your face 
Is like music. 



A MAY MAIDEN 

She is fashioned quaintly, 

Very small and fair ; 
Sunny lights shine faintly 

Through her floating hair. 
Light her form and slender, 

As a swallow's wing. 
And her face is tender 

As a thought of Spring. 

Under lashes shady. 

Soft her eyes and bright ; 
She's a tiny lady, 

Made for our delight; 
If she says, "I love you," 

All your heart must sing ; 
And her kisses move you, 

Like the touch of Spring. 



48 



THE PINE TREE 

Here in the valley town, 
Where the west winds, sweeping down, 
Are tamed in their mighty courses. 
Whirling, with scattered forces; 
Here, where the houses stand. 

Each in its garden trim — 

Where the sweet familiar blooms. 
Lilac and box and rose. 

Send out the old perfumes. 
May after May — 
Here, by the beaten way, 

A strong old pine-tree grows, 
Child of a barren land, 

Sturdy and tall and grim. 
And gaunt of limb. 
Summer and winter and spring. 

Through all their varied range, 
To its level boughs can bring 

No dream of change. 
And I hear as I pass along 
That immemorial song, 
Which the forests chant to the sea. 

From great crags, lone and far. 
And the sea cries back again. 
In deep antiphonal strain 

Of solemn jubilee, 
Voicing the bygone ages. 

And the ages yet to be. 

In slow, strong monotone, 

It sounds alone ; 
The hum of the vibrant wings 

Of the soul of things ; 
The boom of the distant chime 
Of greater time ; 

49 



Strange as the voice that dwells 
In caves that the tide draws under, 
Whose awful and endless thunder 

Is echoed in tiniest shells, 

With far, faint sigh, — 

Or flung from the gleaming walls 

Of giant waterfalls, — 
A call — a question — 
A ceaseless cry, 

And its quiet, tender, unending, slow reply. 

O priestly, solemn pine, 

Not all who pass can hear 
That wind-wrought song of thine ! 

For life rings loud in the ear. 
And the air is thrilled and stirred 
With flutter of leaf and bird. 
With clamor of toilsome day — 
Now mellow and far away — 
Now swelling, with tramp of feet, 
In the village street. 

But I keep, as my steps go on — 

Stilled to a measured calm — 

The sound of your changeless psalm. 
The verse and the antiphon. 
And it brings the sense to me 
Of great half-spheres of sea. 
And stretches of boundless air. 
To my flying thought spread bare; 

And of forests old^ 
On measureless mountainsides, 
Where wild life flits and hides, 

And the cosmic hymn 
Is murmured in deep recesses. 

With utterance manifold. 

50 



But the word is one! 
Calling from forest and sea, 
Breathed from this stern old tree, 
That stands, amid crowding blooms, alone. 
It is worship and strength to me. 
It is deeper than mystery, 

For the message is "Patience — patience !' 
The theme is Eternity. 



IN QUIETNESS AND IN CONFIDENCE 

How slowly fades the rose-light in the west ! 

How gently moves the earth to meet the night, 
Ent'ring the darkness as a place of rest. 

And taking quiet leave of day's delight! 

Oh, that our hearts could thus relinquish joy! 

Oh, that our hours of darkness thus might be 
As tranquil shades, that veil but not destroy 

The deathless Daylight of Eternity! 

Lord ! give us grace that we may so enthrall 
Our heart's desires, that, through the night 
and day, 

We thus move forward at Thy loving call — 
Swift without haste, and calm without delay! 



51 



ON THE RIVER: AN IMPRESSION 

A river of silver and azure, 

With g-liding ships afloat; 
On the farther shore a city, 

Golden, serene, remote; 
With one fair dome up-rising. 

Dim through the tender mist. 
Like a stately, pearl-built palace. 

With tracings of amethyst. 
A boat, with proud sails swelling; 

Swift as a dream, she slips 
Through vistas of liquid glory. 

Between the larger ships ; 
And whither else is she headed, 

And whither could she fare. 
But straight to the mystical palace. 

To the foot of its shining stair? 

Whatever the crew that boards her. 

Or the freight she bears away, 
She was set afloat as a pleasure-boat, 

To carry my soul to-day ! 
For me are her blue sails spreading. 

For me was she launched and manned ; 
Though I journey away from the river. 

Through the slowly darkening land. 
She never will reach the palace. 

Her sails will never be furled ; 
She will always lie 'neath a reddening sky, 

On the verge of a wonder-world ; 
And the palace shall vanish never; 

And the low sun shall not fail 
To light forever the silver river. 

The dome, the sky, the sail. 



52 



A CHORISTER 

My tall white lily, with uplifted face 
Set in a carved nook of the holy place, 
From stillness and dim glories gathering 
grace, — 

What thoughts of Heav'n wait on thy gentle 

guise. 
The tender mystery of thy musing eyes. 
Thine unimpassioned lips, shaped angel-wise? 

From thy clear-tinted face, serenely fair, 

A tranquil influence mingles with my prayer, 

Subtly as breath of incense on the air. 

No cares of earth can touch thee, till God please ; 
He keeps thee as He keeps His flowers and trees, 
Rooted in calm, and sphered in golden ease. 

And, as a bird breaks from the leafy height. 
Thy winged voice uprises, clear and light. 
Just stirring thy pure stillness with its flight. 

Mere human childhood though thy life may be, 
Here in God's place and time, thou art to me 
His symbol-flower of peace and purity. 

For He Who stood once in a grassy spac e, 
And marked the lilies growing in their place, 
Sends us anew their message in thy face. 

Thy calm white beauty was not given in vain ; 
So may He guard thee — not from love or 

pain — 
But from all earthly dreams that leave a stain. 



53 



A DISCIPLE 

Within the Httle space of two blue eyes, 

My soul, long- gazing, can see more of heaven 

Than when, on days of storm, a cloud is riven 

Far up the zenith, showing, as it flies, 

Pure glimpses of unfathomable skies. 

— What can / teach thee, looking up to me, 

Dear, in thine angel-guarded purity, 

And that great innocence that makes thee wise? 

If thou could'st know the truth — meek as thou 

art — 
My very soul is lying at thy feet. 
Searched to its troubled depths by rays that dart 
From those clear eyes, so dreadful, yet so sweet ! 
Oh, teach thou me, that so my darkened heart 
May worthier grow thy gaze, and God's, to meet. 

A CHILD I KNEW 

There was a face as lovely to the sight 
As some wild vision on the wave afloat, 

Some water fairy smiling- to the light 
Close by the shadow of a drifting boat. 

The eyes — pure spirit, colored by the sky ; 
The lips made sweet to drop light kisses on : 

That was a child I knew. But years went by, 
And he is gone ! 

There was a hand, so small, so slim, so warm — 
No clasp so loving ever folded mine ; 

A quick, brown, bird-like head; a slender form; 
A child's fine heart-beats, with a love as fine. 

Alas ! in manhood souls may be defiled. 
And love may falter as the years go on. 

It was not Death, but Life, that took the child, 
And he is gone ! 

54 



ON THE PLAINS 

World-wide space, and the sky above ; 

Open li^ht, that no shadow mars ; 

Earth is a star with the other stars, 
And heaven is near enough to love. 

Waves of green on an endless sea ; 

Streaks of bloom, that are tossed like foam ; 

The sun and the wind are here at home, 
And here the cloud and the storm go free. 

Royal night, and the veil withdrawn. 
Blinding glitter of starry spears; 
Changing glory of days and years, 

Perfect splendor of dusk and dawn. 

Earth^'s clear breast, and the sky above ; 

World-wide spaces, and full, free breath ; 

Plere life looks in the eyes of death, 
And God is near, for the soul to love. 



'TO WHOM SHALL WE GO?" 

One Hand alone, outstretched, unfaltering, 
Can reach us, where our broken lives were tost ; 

Ye, who stand safe, may scorn us as we cling; 
But oh; the Hand is warm, — and we were 
lost! 



55 



A SONG OF KINDRED 

Hark ! how the strong seas shout 

To the pines on the mountainside : 
"Sing-, brothers, sing! for the winds are out, 

And the path of their flight is wide ! 

We leap, at flood of the tide, 

To the base of your rooted rock. 
Feel you the thrill as the deep caves fill ? 
Hear 3^ou the breakers' shock? 
Hail, brothers, hail! 
Send your song on the western gale. 

Loud is the wind in every tree, 
But you alone can voice the tone 

Of the full-throated sea. 
From you alone can our echoes ring; 
Sing, brothers, sing!" 

Hark! how the great pines cry 

From the inland forest places, 
Sending the mountain-land's reply 
Out to the wild sea-spaces, 
Where the mad wave swells and races 
Under the tide-wind's hand. 
''Hail, all hail ! We swing to the gale, 
And shrill to your brave command. 
Rock, rock, and chime! 
Back we fling your iterant rhyme. 
In a rush of harmony ! 
Loud is the wind in every tree, 
But we alone can harp the tone 

Of the deep-breasted sea. 
From us alone can your echoes fall! 
Call, brothers, call !" 



56 



LAZARUS 

To what fair-ordered kingdom hadst thou sped? 
Thou pure, great spirit of the righteous dead! 
Through what vast shadowy vista didst thou 

trace 
The archways of that radiant dwelHng-place ? 
From what star-centre came the full-orbed light 
That flamed at length, unshadowed, on thy sight ? 
And when that Kingly summons sounded clear, 
Through what rare ether did it find thine ear ? 
What guide hadst thou in that amazed flight 
Thus swiftly circling backward toward the night? 
With what strange pang did thine enfranchised 

soul 
Renounce the glories of its late-won goal. 
And stoop once more beneath the doors of doom, 
Back, through the clinging thraldom of the 

tomb. 
Back to the sordid day, the toil, the tears. 
The unwept sorrows of long human years? 
Who reads thy riddle, since thy speech is sealed? 
No soul may guess what thine leaves unrevealed. 
Yet can I clream of looking in those eyes — 
In whose clear depth life's utmost mystery lies. 
And, for one answer only pleading sore: 
"What is death's guerdon? Tell me this — no 

more. 
And having known what to thy soul was best, 
How canst thou live, and wait, in perfect rest?" 
I hear thee say, 'Tn all that realm of space 
I found no other glory than His Face, 
Nor can I lose that light in any sphere ; 
His was the summons — and He met me here!" 



57 



OUT AT SEA 

Unnumbered waves, and unshadowed light! 

Limitless glory, that fades to sight 

With the dusk, and the star-inspired night ! 

Through circles of light and dark she slips, 
Under the arch-ways of dawn she dips, 
The one most precious of all the ships. 

Whelmed in azure, 'twixt gulf and space, 
She holds in her narrow housing-place 
A little world, with its life and grace; 

A pearl held loosely in God's strong hand, 
A sphere whose course is at His command, 
Alone with Him, till she find the land. 

My soul is drawn in her gleaming trail ; 
With her I harbor — with her I fail. 
Oh, ship most precious of all that sail ! 

I know no life, and I find no light, 

Save in the track of her wave-bound flight. 

— I feel her strain to the winds at night ! 

For there, in her narrow housing-place 
Is held awhile between gulf and space 
The One whose soul is my star of grace. 



58 



THE CHILDREN 

They take my very heart — I know not how — 
So shyly hfting up their deep sweet eyes, 
Pure as the morning star in virgin skies, 

'Neath the soft hair and white unshadowed brow. 

I would not that the darkness of the world 
Should cloud those tender lights. I would in- 
stead 
That mine own eyes should weep, and o'er my 
head 
The wings of storm and sorrow be unfurled. 

I fain would stand before each little breast, 
A loving shield — but since this may not be, 
I long instead that they should turn to me, 
As birds that flutter gladly to the nest. 
After the first weak flight ; sure, ever sure. 
To find the mother-heart, and rest secure ! 



OCTOBER 

Came a wild queen up the glens, whence the sum- 
mer had fled — 
Beautiful, wonder-eyed, strong-hearted, glow- 
ing October ! 
Brightly with colors of flame was her vesture be- 
spread ; 
All the rich spoils of the year had been gather- 
ed to robe her. 

Life in her cheek flushed and throbbed, burning 
fitfully clear, 
Life in her eyes lit their depths with a passion- 
ate splendor ; 

59 



Forth she came singing, with voice full of mysti- 
cal cheer, 
Forth she came singing a bride-song, exultant 
and tender. 

Lustrous October (I said), if thou com'st as a 
bride, 
Yet if thou com'st as a queen, sure thy bride- 
groom is royal ! 
"Great is the monarch," she said, *Svho shall 
stand at my side, 
None is so fair in mine eyes — none so stead- 
fast and loyal." 

Who is thy king and thy bridegroom, fair queen 
of the Year? 
Beautiful, wonder-eyed, strong-hearted, golden 
October ! 
**DeatH is my bridegroom!" she said, ''and his 
bride is so dear. 
All the rich spoils of the summer are gathered 
to robe her. 

''Death is my bridegroom," she said, "and his 
grace shall be mine. 
See'st thou my vesture of flame ? It is donned 
for his glory; 
Gentle the touch of his hand, and his eyes are 
divine ! 
Only his nearest can list to his marvelous story. 

"Forth he will lead me, to lands beyond shadow 
and strife ; 
Bright are the halls of his palace, though dark 
be its portal. 
There he is known not as Death — but his name 
is called Life! 
Life shall be mine, and through me is the Year 
made immortal." 

GO 



THE SO>KG OF MARGARET 

Noblest of maidens, Margaret, 
Outside Love's garden lingereth ; 
"My time," she sigheth, "is not yet, — 
My time for either love or death : 

'Twixt star and star my sphere is set; 
The light from each is faint," she saith. 

"Here in Love's garden on my left. 

All wealth of fruit and flower is seen, 

The amber peach, with ripeness cleft. 
The blue grape and the nectarine. 

The white rose, of her love bereft. 

The dark-red rose that plays the queen. 

"While on my right, past wood and lea, 

The pale horizon dimly glows : 
Its light upon the silver sea 

A soul of color doth disclose, 
As if its subtle flame might be 

The fire that kindles in the rose." 

The noble maiden, Margaret, 

Walks in white garments, like a bride ; 
On barren ways her steps are set. 

Sweet mysteries dwell on either side ; 
Fair are the garden-glooms, and yet 

Her eyes o'erlook the distance wide. 

Which way at last her course shall tend, 
Fain would she know ere day is old, 

The garden-paths have many a bend. 
White robes are soiled by wet brown mold. 

And where those shadowy windings end. 
That is a secret still untold ! 

61 



Out on the far horizon's rim 

There dwells a light that never dies ; 

Faint sounds, as from an angel's hymn. 
In soft strange echoings fall and rise. 

The path between is wild and dim, 
But leads it not to Paradise ? 

Noblest of maidens, Margaret, 
Still lingereth on the barren way: 

'My time," she sigheth, "is not yet! 
The larger lot, the more delay. 

'Twixt star and star my sphere is set, — 
Ah ! which shall be my Star of Day ?" 



LET ME CRY HOPE 

Let me cry Hope, though I myself despair! 

Soul, if for thee the deep abysses yawn. 
Hold thou thy torch above the darkness there, 

That souls far off may hail it as the dawn ; 

Since, though the light may cheat their craving 
eyes. 
For one dear hour 'twill make their pathway fair ; 

And, ere it sink, for them the Sun may rise. 
Let me cry Hope, though I myself despair ! 



PORTRAIT OF A CHILD 

His little face is so pure, so fine, — 

Fine as a cameo, pale and quaint 
As an elf of the wood ; the slender line 

Of the eyebrow but slightly arched, and faint; 
But the blue eyes under — 
A shining wonder ! — 
Clear as a still lake, deeps on deeps, 

Holding the sunlight, they gleam upon you ; 
The soul beneath them never sleeps ; 

It smiles from the blue, and lo ! it has won you. 

The face is slight, and shaped like a heart ; 

It hints of song, like a violin ; 
Sloping in delicate lines, that start 

From the broad clear brow to the tiny chin. 
Formed for gladness, — 
Yet touched with sadness, — 
Oh, dear child- face ! where the shadow sleeps 

(The shade of a shadow, that comes and goes) 

Down the tender cheek, with its paling rose, 
To the full pure curve of the perfect lips. 

Not the face of an angel, this, — 

But the face of a human child, made sweet 
To hold between loving hands, and kiss ; 
A wistful face, that your eyes should greet 
With looks as tender 
As love can render 
To all that love in the world holds best ; 
A face for grieving, for wonder and hope. 
Through whose strange clearness the soul hath 
scope 
To shine, in its spotless childhood blest. 



63 



CHILD-LIFE PASSES AWAY 

As the delicate opened flower, 
As love's most ideal hour, 
As the first pure flush of the day — 
Child-life passes away. 

Do we ever dream of this — 

What love, what beauty and bliss. 

What tender glory — are flown, 

When we say, 'The children are grown?' 

That exquisite fleeting hint 
Of the Perfect in form and tint, — 
The rose leaf cheek, and the eyes 
That look on us angel-wise ; 

The flower-shaped faces dear. 
Tender and bright and clear ; 
The warm pure lips ; and the hair, 
So softly-ringed and fair; 

The nestling, clinging form. 
Slim and throbbing and warm : 
The dash and power of the boy — 
The sweetness, the wonder and joy. 

We love them to-day and to-night. 
But they slowly change in our sight ; 
And we know on some darker day, 
Child beauty will pass away. 

The v/ave of loveliness grows. 
And swells, and passes, — and flows 
Away into some new range 
Of rise and falling and change. 

64 



Yet beauty that changes and flows 
Still lives in the soul, and grows ; 
The touch may be fairy-fine, 
But the impress left is divine. 



BEFORE THE DAWN 

Just before the dawn the leaves begin to stir, — 
Just before the dawn, — with a soft and wist- 
ful sound ; 
The shrill small things with wiry wings have 
ceased their restless whir, 
The voices of night are hushed, and the still- 
ness closes round. 

Just before the dawn there's a tremble in the air ; 
The silence still is deep, but it seems to pause 
and hark; 
The earth is sighing in her sleep (be her dreams 
sad or fair?). 
And a creeping wind that feels its way goes 
rustling through the dark. 

Just before the dawn I am waking from my 
sleep 
The hush is on my soul, and it resteth without 
thought; . 

Or perchance in one great Thought it lies 
whelmed, as in the deep. 
And waits in an awful calm till the wonder 
of Day be wrought. 

O'er the dim half-globe stealeth a wan white 
light ; 
Strange as the smile of the dead, it groweth 
unaware ; 



And, touched by a dream that hovers between 
the day and night, 
All things wake and whisper; life breathes 
low in the air. 

All things wake and whisper, still with a sense of 
doubt ; 
Light leaves tremble with hope; here and 
there twitters a bird : 
Soon will the moment come when the flush of 
the east breaks out. 
When the wide world laughs and arises, and 
the chorus of song is heard! 

I, too, wait for the morn, lying watchful and still ; 
But the calm of my soul is shattered in frag- 
ments of thought and dream; 
Just as, a moment later, when the sun looks over 
the hill. 
The clear white light will be broken in shadow 
and golden gleam. 

But later, and later still, when broad bright day 
is here, 
And all life's voices sound, my soul will still 
be dumb; 
My soul will still be waiting, in wonder and hope 
and fear, — 
For her light is the light of dawn, and her Day 
is yet to come. 



60 



CHICAGO — IN 1893 

IN PREPARATION FOR THE COLUMBIAN 
EXPOSITION 

The blue lake ripples to her feet, 

The wind is in her hair ; 
She stands, a maiden wild and sweet, 

With sinewy form and fair. 

No stress of age her hope restrains, 

Nor checks its high emprise ; 
The blood of youth is in her veins, 

Youth's challenge in her eyes. 

She seized, with movement swift as light. 

The hour's most precious spoil ; 
Now, glowing with her promise bright. 

Her strength makes joy of toil. 

With dextrous hand, with dauntless will. 

Her pearl-white towers she rears. 
The memory of whose grace shall thrill 

The illimitable years. 

O'er leagues of waste, in sun and storm, 
Their proud pure domes shall gleam. 

The substance, wrought in noblest form, 
Or Art's imperial dream. 

Here shall she stand, the Old World's bride, 

Crowned with the Age's dower; 
Toward her shall set the abounding tide 

Of life's full pomp and power. 

67 



She hears the nations' coming tread, 

The rushing of the ships, 
And waits, with queenly hands outspread, 

And welcome on her lips. 

The races, 'neath her generous sway, 
Shall spread their splendid mart; 

And here, for one brief perfect day. 
Shall beat the world's great heart. 



68 



IN DEAR BOHEMIA 

(World's Fair, September, 1893.) 

This is dear Bohemia's best, — 
At the Fair in sunny weather. 

Meeting throngs from East and West 
Stream through pleasant ways together ! 



All the glorious doorways frame 
Eager, wondering, happy faces; 

Care forgets her very name; 
Pride forgets her idle graces. 

Gray old Earth renews her youth, 
Dancing forth to pipe and tabor ; 

Every word seems gracious truth, 
Every man a kindly neighbor. 

Never sunshine fell like this, 

Gleaming through the carven spaces ; 

Never hearts were tuned to bliss 
In such fair idyllic places; 

Never water shone so blue. 

Glassing dreams of towered splendor; 
Never bells so clear and true 

Filled the air with chiming tender. 

Room for all, and joy for each, — 
This is dear Bohemia's pleasure. 

Here's the school where nations teach, 
And the World gives forth her treasure. 

Shaking out with reckless hand 
All the plenteous wealth of ages, 

And, at Art's divine command. 
Opening Beauty's precious pages. 

G9 



Darling city of delight, 

Proud Columbia's fairy daughter! 
Thou must vanish from our sight, 

Like a mirage of the water ; 

But thy gladness shall be ours, 
To inspire our life's endeavor, 

And the gleam of thy white towers 
Light our happiest dreams forever. 



70 



CHICAGO AT REST — 1894 

Fair Genius of the Lake, sit thou and rest ; 

Thy brow still crowned, thy glorious limbs 

supine, 
While yet thine eyes with musing rapture 
shine, 
And the deep breaths of triumph swell thy breast. 

Look out upon the wave ; thy work is done ! 
The mighty nations summoned at thy call 
Clasp hands and part; thy glittering pageants 
fall; 

This was thy golden hour : its sands have run. 

Yet shall the glory of that hour be thine 

While the world stands: for this — that thou 

hast cared 
First for supremest beauty, and hast dared 

Transform earth's labor with its ray divine. 

Now peace be with thee, who hast wrought so 
well! 
And from far east and west this hope shall be 
Sent for thy future blessing : That on thee 

God's smile of beauty may forever dwell ! 



71 



IN A CORN-FIELD 

The corn has so much to say ! 

It tells with a gay delight 
The gossip of golden day, 

The dream of the tender night. 
The sunny slopes run sweet 

To the edge of the woodland shadows, 
Where the idle, laughing streams repeat 

The talk of the happy meadows. 

But the trees that lean above 

Have deeper thoughts to measure ; 
They whisper of home and love. 

And hold their own life's treasure; 
They breathe in the sun-filled space; 

Rooted in calm they stand. 
Granting the birds a nesting-place, 

Blessing the quiet land. 

And the hills their secrets hold, 

Where brooding clouds hang over; 
There the soft winds unfold 

Glad thoughts that few discover. 
O whispering corn, be still! 

My heart is vainly trying 
To hear, through all your rustling thrill, 

The deep tones underlying. 

Ah, sweet escaping song! 

Mine ears can ne'er compel it, 
But the little flower I bring along 

Smiles up, and tries to tell it I 



72 



DEATH'S WAY 

Death had his way with her at last ; 

How sweet his way I had not known 
Until her pain and grief were past, 

And she was all his own. 

I had not dreamed how he could bless, 
Until I saw how still and sweet 

She lay there in her loveliness. 
Content from head to feet. 

The smile was sweet upon her lips, 
As if her thoughts were glad and wise ; 

And sweeter for their light's eclipse 
The pure lids of her eyes. 

Her hair lay in a silver cloud 
About her face on either side; 

All queenly white, dark-lashed, dark-browed, 
She slept in gentle pride. 

I crossed soft laces on her breast, 
With loving touches lingering; 

And on the worn hand, laid at rest, 
I left her wedding-ring. 

I kissed her, brow and breast and hair ; 

Then, since I knew how Death could bless, 
I left her, trusting, to his care, 

In all her loveliness. 



73 



Songs of War 



THE SONG OF THE GUNNER 

She lies within her bracings, with her muzzle out 
to sea, 
She is sleeping, darkly sleeping, in the sun ; 
She is waiting for the fiery touch that sets her 
thunders free. 
For the reckoning when her savage rest is 
done. 
Oh, my lady, oh, my pet! 
I shall hear your music yet. 
When the foe shall set his broadside to my gun! 

As I stroke her iron shoulder, heaving with the 
heaving deck, 
From her throat a hollow murmur seems to 
start ; 
As I whisper, as I listen, with iny arm upon her 
neck, 
Do I hear a sullen throbbing from her heart? 
Oh, my beauty, my delight ! 
When you speak, by day or night, 
Earth from heaven — soul from body — strain 
apart. 

Watching mutely through the midnight, watch- 
ing warily through the day, 
WHiile a brooding blackness veils her eye of 
fire, 
As the tiger, crouching dumbly, waits to seize the 
gliding prey. 
Holding leashed the secret force of his desire, 
So she lingers, set to stand 
To the motion of my hand. 
Till my summons wakes the tempest of her ire. 



77 



When the call shall sound to action she shall 
tremble in her greed ; 
She shall know me, for her heart and mine are 
one! 
I shall loose her rocking thunders, I shall fit the 
bolts that speed, 
Straight to rend, and strong to shatter, swift 
to stun; 
All her mighty thews shall thrill 
To the passion of my will, 
And my soul shall send the message of my 
gun! 

Still she lies within her bracings, with her muzzle 
out to sea; 
And I stroke her till her steely shoulders shine ; 
And she slumbers without token of the fury that 
shall be 
When the foe shall set his broadside on her 
line. 
Oh, my lady, my dehght! 
When I swing you round to sight, 
Death shall follow, and your triumph shall be 
mine ! 

THE WAR CLOUD, 1898 

On the dark horizon line 

Muster the clouds of war; 
And a moan that's pressed from the sea's wild 
breast 

Rolls upward from the shore. 

Swift runs the flaming sign — 

The lightning bolt of wrath — 
A nation's ire, that speeds like lire, 

With ravage in its path. 

78 



Where is the power now, 

Mighty to rule or stay 
The gleam abhorred of the hurtling sword, 

Or the blast that darkens day? 

When shall the awful vow 

That binds the soul to death 
Be all fulfilled, and the last blood spilled, 

And the victors stand for breath ? 

God of unnumbered hosts ! 

Guide Thou our wrath and power, 
That the steadfast light of law and right 

Shine through our fateful hour. 

That when our swelling boasts 

Drop to a dirge of woe. 
For brave hearts deep in their dreamless sleep, 

In the cold sea depths below. 

We own not then the shame 

Of fierce, unmastered pride, 
That offered life for a needless strife, 

Or the hand of peace denied. 

But know that in Thy name — 

God of our souls' desire ! — 
For love, for truth, and for deepest ruth, 

We loosed the avenging fire. 



A MOTHER OF '98 

My gallant love goes out to-day, 
With drums and bugles sounding gay ; 
I smile to cheer him on his way — 
Smile back, my heart, to me! 

79 



The flags are glittering- in the Hght; 
Is it their stars that bHnd my sight? 
God, hold my tears until to-night — 
Then set their fountains free ! 

He takes with him the light of May ; 

Alas ! it seems but yesterday 

He was a bright-haired child at play, 

With eyes that knew no fear ; 
Blue eyes — true eyes ! I see them shine 
Far down, along the waving line — 
Now meet them bravely, e3^es of mine ! 

Good cheer, my love, good cheer ! 

Oh, mother-hearts, that dare not break! 
That feel the stress, the long, long ache, 
The tears that burn, the eyes that wake, 

For these our cherished ones — 
And ye — true hearts — not called to bear 
Such pain and peril, for your share — 
Oh, lift with me the pleading prayer, 

God save our gallant sons ! 



BALLAD OF THE ROUGH RIDERS 

We heard the sound of galloping feet, 

It struck to the nation's soul ; 
In the far South-west we heard them beat ; 
Their echoes swept through the city street. 
With a rhythmic thunder-roll. 
Forward swing, forward swing, 
Strong and light as an eagle's wing, 
For the flag. 

80 



These are they who have heard the call 

Of a voice their spirits knew ; 
They who follow, to fight or fall, 
One who is bravest and best of all 
To the young, the swift, the true. 
Forward swing, forward swing, 
Each has only a life to bring 
For the flag. 

These are the men whose hearts are rife 

With the stress of the daring chase ; 
These are the flower of the nation's life, 
Picked men all, for the desperate strife, 
Sons of a mettled race. 

Forward swing, forward swing, 
Who but these can such leaders bring 
To the flag? 



Hark ! there is scarce a hoof-beat's sound 

In the tropic thickets deep ; 
All unhorsed are the riders found, 
Wearily over the burning ground 
Their steadfast footsteps creep. 
Still they swing, forward swing. 
Dauntless, grim, unfaltering, 
'Neath the flag. 

Straight they march on the hidden foe, 

Capron's troop in the van ; 
Under the maddening fire they go ; 
Hist ! who falls ? Must the best blood flow ? 
Ay — it is but a man ! 

Forward swing, forward swing: 
Ah, what glorious lives we fling 
To the flag! 

81 



On, till the thorny* ground is won, 

Snatched by the eager bands ; 
What of the fight when all is done ? 
The foe shall answer : "They tried, each one, 
To seize us with their hands!" 
Forward swing, forward swing, 
New brave work shall the morrow bring 
For the flag. 

For lo! when the army sweeps along 

To the bloody hill-top's crest, 
Climbing and conquering, thousands strong. 
There do the unhorsed riders throng. 
Up — with the first and best. 
Forward swing, forward swing, 
Living, follow — and dying, cling 
To the flag. 

Sounding still, with an echo sweet. 
Through the nation's inmost soul. 
We hear the tramp of those toiling feet, 
And the hoofs of the leader's horse, that beat 
With a rhythmic thunder-roll. 
Forward swing, forward swing. 
Such are the hearts, the lives, we bring 
For the flag! 



•Las Guasimas — The Thorns. 



82 



THE MEN WE ARE 

We are toilers and dreamers and plotters, 

We are rulers and fathers of men; 
We sleep under peaceful roof-trees, 

We rise to our work again ; 
We sing of love by the hearthstone. 

We kiss dear lips at the door, 
And That lies cold within us 

That we think shall rise no more. 
But hark, the bugle ! It calls from far. 
Each note drops clear as a falling star ; 
Ye shall know us now for the men we are. 

Up and away — away! 
Be we men or brutes, that we leap to life 
At the sound and scent of the teeming strife ? 
That gain nor labor, nor child nor wife. 

Shall bid us shrink or stay? 

For the women hear by the fireside. 

They come with their eyes aflame 
To press the sword to our holding, 

To cry to the laggard, shame! 
And the children dance to the bugle, 

They run to their mimic fight ; 
And That which we sought to stifle 

Now stings us to fierce delight. 
Oh, hark, the bugle ! It leads us far ; 
We follow, follow, a flaming star! 
Ye know us now for the men we are — 

What lives in our blood and breath. 
There's a day that never will dawn again, 
There's a cause to scorn or to save, and then, 
Whether ye name us brutes or men. 

The hazard is life or death. 



83 



THE SOLDIER IDEAL 

There are those who follow the rainbow, 

The shining dream of peace, 
Their only prayer that the sword shall drop, 

And the bugle-call shall cease. 
Their hands are cold and nerveless; 

They have let the standards trail ; 
And when men cried, "The cause! the cause!" 

They have answered, "Let it fail !" 

But we have not so learned manhood, 

We have not so known life; 
We hold that the soul is strong in those 

Who have scorned the flesh in strife. 
We will lie in blood and anguish, 

We will toil in fierce unrest. 
For the seed of power in the land we love, 

For the cause her hopes have blest. 

They say we strike as the brute strikes, 

They say that we hate the foe ; 
They call us mad with lust of blood, — 

By the truth of God, not so ! 
We are sworn to a faith — a vision, — 

Soul fronting soul, we stand ; 
And the foe who bleeds for the dream he serves 

We heal with a tender hand. 

Our work is crowned as Duty, 

It is done — to our utmost breath! 
Our joy is the stress of peril. 

Our light is the face of Death. 
We make no boast of courage. 

We make no moan for pain ; 
And if we falter, at last — but once — 

We have lived our years in vain. 

84 



If the life of ease be noblest. 

If the highest gain be gold ; 
If that be grace which is won with shame, 

Or peace which is bought and sold ; 
If life be the goal to pant for, 

And only the flesh be life, — 
Then are we bound by an idle oath 

To a false and bestial strife. 

But the heart of the child is with us. 

And under our shield we guard 
The love and strength of the woman, 

The sight and song of the bard. 
We have marched to the truth through struggle. 

Through blood and fire to the light; 
And the toilers of peace have blessed our names, 

In prayers of the quiet night. 

We have stood at the front of nations. 

We have built their age-long fame ; 
We have passed them back, with bleeding hands. 

The gifts we were spent to claim. 
And they who follow the rainbow. 

The shining dream of peace, 
Shall owe their rest to our fearless toil, 

When the bugle-call shall cease. 



85 



THE RESERVE 

I stand where rolling vapors shroud 

The golden hills that spread so fair ; 
Pale light is filtered through the cloud, 

Thick moisture weights the clinging air. 
I see no flash beyond the gloom, 

Yet there the flame of battle runs, 
And thence is borne the cry of doom, 

The broken thunder of the guns ! 

My soul is shaken with their din. 

Rocked with the standards borne on high ; 
I feel the sweeping charge begin; 

My heart is spent with those who die! 
Yet back and forth, with measured pace. 

Beside the breast-works blank and tall, 
I march the track with unmoved face. 

And hold my manhood's blood in thrall. 

The war-horse neighs behind the gate, 

The horseman soothes him, at his side ; 
I guard the patient ranks that wait. 

Heart-spurred, but silent, — restless-eyed. 
They may not break the bound that keeps 

Each man an atom in his place ; 
No baser is the guard that sleeps 

Than he who leaps the appointed space! 

With steady tramp, with close-locked lip, 

I bear inert the silent gun. 
See how the standards rise and dip. 

There — where the scattering vapors run ! 
Who calls? Who passes? Who complains? 

Who gives the challenge and reply? 
My heart is tugging at its chains. 

And pleading to the smoke-dimmed sky ! 

8G 



Noon dies, — nor finds the fighting done ; 

Still shriek the guns beyond the hill; 
We know not if the day be won, 

We trust the word that holds us still. 
Bravest when we at last despair 

Of summons swift by bugle call, — 
Ah, praise us, comrades ! for we bear 

A strain that makes your struggle small ! 

Oh, glorious ranks that break and charge, 

That feel the fierce unchecked desire — 
The hope that stings — the impulse large 

That spurns the force of steel and fire! 
With what high hearts you play with fate. 

Meet scathe or death, and cheering fall ! 
Take ye God-speed from us who wait, 

Mute guards beneath the barrack wall! 



Earlier Poems 



THE WATCHER 

I sat in the silence, in moonlight that gathered 
and glowed 
Far over the field and forest, with tender in- 
crease ; 
The low, rushing winds in the trees were like 
waters that flowed 
From sources of passionate joy to an ocean of 
peace. 
And I watched, and was glad in my heart, though 
the shadows were deep, 
Till one came and asked me, "Say why dost 
thou watch through the night?" 
And I said, *T am watching my joy ! They who 
sorrow may sleep, 
But the soul that is glad cannot part with one 
hour of delight." 

Again in the silence I watched, and the moon 
had gone down ; 
The shadows were hidden in darkness; the 
winds had passed by ; 
The midnight sat throned, and the jewels were 
bright in her crown, 
For stars glimmered softly, oh, softly, from 
depths of the sky. 
And I sighed as I watched all alone, till again 
came a voice : 
"Ah, why dost thou watch? Joy is over, and 
sorrow is vain." 
And I said, "I am watching my grief. Let them 
sleep who rejoice, 
But the spirit that loves cannot part with one 
hour of its pain." 



91 



Once more I sat watching, in darkness that fell 
h'ke a death, 
The deep, solemn darkness that comes to make 
way for the dawn ; 
I looked on the earth, and it slept without motion 
or breath ; 
And blindly I looked on the sky, but the stars 
were withdrawn ; 
And the voice spoke once more: "Cease thy 
watching, for what dost thou gain?" 
But I said, "I am watching my soul, to this 
darkness laid bare. 
Let them sleep to whom love giveth joy, to whom 
love giveth pain. 
But the soul left alone cannot part with one 
moment of prayer." 



LOSS AND GAIN 

She walked apart, along the height. 

The stars above her bending head, 
And, marked by many a twinkling light, 

Below her steps the world was spread. 
On one side drooped her shadowy hair ; 

As slow she moved, her white robe shone; 
She lived in love's enchanted air, — 

The love of One! 

Lo! from her dreary height she stepped 

Down to the world in lowly guise ; 
Strange grief within her heart she kept, 

Deep wonder in her wistful eyes. 
And now, as soft her footsteps move 

Along the valley's winding fall, 
She knows a purer, lonelier love, — 

The love of All! 

92 



CHANGES 

How soon the wreath of summer droops and falls 

From the year's languid hands! Alas, how 
soon, 

In calms of fading- sun and brightening moon, 
The still earth lists the Father's gentle calls, 
Which say, ''Give back thy sweets — lay down 
thy flowers — 

Awhile, O Earth, thy dear delights forego, 

That thou awhile no life save hope may'st 
know. 
And rest in patience, numbering barren hours!" 
How sweetly Earth prepares her for the change, 

And suffers all her blooms to fall away! 

How calm and gradual is the slow decay. 
Till loss itself no more seems hard or strange. 
O peaceful snow ! O spirit-flower, that lives, 

A wondrous bloom, upon the leafless waste! 

O time that glides without delay or haste, 
While winter dreams of more than summer gives ! 
So would I learn to bid my joys farewell, " 

And enter desolate ways with quiet heart : 

For He who calls me thus to mourn apart, 
Can speak through silence with so sweet a spell. 

And strike so strange a joy through loss and 
pain, 

That rapture's self can hold no richer gain. 



93 



The After-Word 
IF WORDS COULD REACH THEE 

Dear soul, if words could reach thee, 

What message should be thine ! 
New readings of love's hidden lore, 

From this blind heart of mine ; 
New wisdom wrung from living, 

By death alone made clear; 
Dear soul, if words could reach thee. 

Thou would'st be glad to hear! 

Dear love, if grief could touch thee. 

How well thy heart would know 
The passion of untold regret. 

The helpless tears that flow 
For days unblest and weary 

Through life's too stern demand. 
Dear soul, if grief could touch thee. 

Thy heart would understand ! 

Dear heart, if Love can find thee, 

(He knows the larger way). 
Then must thou hear the broken song 

He brings to thee to-day. 
And with the old sweet welcome 

Give solace to his pain ; 
Dear heart, if Love can find thee, 

He will not plead in vain! 



94 



JUL 27 1906 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 360 126 A 



